The Merciless II by Danielle Vega Page B

they’re the best part.”
    â€œYou don’t want to be late to your first Mass,” Leena adds ominously. She shakes her head for emphasis, and her dangly earrings knock against the sides of her face.
    I force my feet to move faster, ignoring the sharp pebbles piercing the soles of my shoes, and the whip-thinsticks slicing at my bare ankles. The chapel sits just ahead, its whitewashed walls slightly yellow in the early morning light. Church bells peal through the air. A crow leaps from a nearby tree, cawing.
    Sutton, Leena, and I slip through the heavy doors. A second later, a cute guy wearing a white robe pulls the doors shut with a thud.
    â€œJust made it,” Sutton whispers, smiling at the altar boy. Leena pushes her forward.
    â€œYou have a boyfriend,” she reminds her in a loud whisper.
    â€œI might not be planning to buy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t check out the merchandise,” Sutton says, glancing over her shoulder. The boy keeps his gaze focused dead ahead, like he’s some handsome Roman statue.
    Most of the pews are already full, so we head to the front of the chapel. Sutton and Leena kneel next to the very first pew, cross themselves, and then slide down the row to make room for me. I copy their movements, even though it feels strange to cross myself. I can’t shake the feeling that everyone’s watching me, waiting for me to mess up.
    Leena and Sutton kneel on the floor of the pew, resting their clenched hands on the back of the row in front of us. They close their eyes and bow their heads. I mimic them, but I keep my eyes open a slit so I can seewhat’s happening. I’ve never been to a service like this before—my mom hated church.
    The room is small and bare. Wooden pews stretch across the floor, surrounded by empty white walls. A small oil painting of the Virgin Mary hangs from the wall behind the altar. The stained glass windows are the only other decorations.
    An altar boy pulls the heavy curtains behind the altar open and ties them to the side with thick rope. Another boy wearing white robes walks into the chapel. He carries an ornate golden cross. Two more file in behind him, each holding a single lit candle. I study them until I notice that everyone else still has their eyes closed. I snap mine shut and clench my hands tighter.
    I hear more movement at the front of the chapel, but I resist the urge to open my eyes. A heavy smell floats through the air, clouding my head with strange spices, vanilla, and smoke.
    Silence fills the room. There must be a hundred other students in the chapel with us, but no one coughs or whispers or laughs. Beside me, Leena seems to be holding her breath.
    â€œPeace be with you,” Father Marcus says in a deep, gravelly voice.
    â€œAnd also with you,” the students around me recite, their voices merging into one.
    Leena touches me on the shoulder and my eyes flicker open. Everyone else has already opened their eyes and taken their seats. Even Leena and Sutton have slid, silently, back into the pew. I’m the only one in the entire chapel still kneeling.
    My palms sweaty, I take my seat on the pew next to Leena. It’s like I’m in the middle of a complicated dance, only no one taught me the steps.
    Father Marcus stands at the front of the room, surrounded by a small army of altar boys in white robes. Father Marcus wears a wine-colored robe, gold thread glinting from the hems of his sleeves. Another altar boy stands beside him, clutching a heavy, leather-bound Bible in his hands.
    â€œAnd now, a reading,” Father Marcus announces. The altar boy hands Father Marcus the Bible. He’s taller than the priest and he has to bend over to hand him the Bible. I wonder if he’s a student from the boys’ school. Or maybe he’s Father Marcus’s apprentice—like a priest in training?
    â€œPlease turn your Bibles to John, chapter two, verse fifteen,” Father Marcus